


shrug it off

by only_partly



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019-2020 NHL Season, First Kiss, M/M, just two boys being soft, pre-season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 14:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20694851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_partly/pseuds/only_partly
Summary: @BluenotesPod: Toropchenko slides into his fellow Russian countryman Samsonov. #ALLCAPS crowd gets fussy. Players seemed to shrug it off. And like Perestroika, it was quickly history. #stlblues





	shrug it off

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you go feral and blackout from how happy u are hockey is back and this is the result
> 
> oh also! content warnings only for general homophobia in russia/'just bros' attitudes towards gay stuff but no one was harmed in the making of this and everything on screen is soft and good

Alexey doesn’t have Samsonov’s number, but when he asks Tarasenko, feeling awkward and every bit his twenty years, Tarasenko just points him in Kuznetsov’s direction. Tarasenko doesn’t seem to think anything of it, but Alexey winces a bit before he clomps over to where Kuznetsov is giving Panik a cheerful facewash and asks. 

Kuznetsov doesn’t react with any of the kind of shame-faced remorse Alexey imagines he himself would be displaying perpetually if he’d been caught out like Kuznetsov had, but he does give Alexey Ilya Samsonov’s phone number, so he decides it’s not worth worrying about.

He texts, because Samsonov is probably still in the showers anyway, just a ‘would like to say sorry again, if you have time’, thankful for the shared language, before he tucks his phone away and goes to shower himself.

When he gets out there’s a new message that just says, ‘yes. hotel? i have roommates.’

Alexey is rooming with Stanford, and he’s not one to say anything about a teammate, but Stanford used to play here and he’s also kind of. The English phrase is ‘easy for it’. Alexey is pretty sure he’ll be back just in time for curfew, if that. So he just sends Samsonov back a thumbs up and then jitters his way through the ride back to the hotel and the ten minutes it takes Zach to slip a couple condoms and packets of lube in his pockets and take off with an easy wink.

Ten minutes after that there’s a quiet knock and he jerks the door open so fast that Samsonov blinks at him in surprise. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Alexey sounds way more breathless than he meant to, and he clears his throat, trying again. “Good game.”

Samsonov shrugs one shoulder. “Lots of lucky bounces for us. You played well.”

“Except when I knocked you over on my way into your net?” Alexey raises an eyebrow, feeling a surge of - something, in his chest, when Samsonov laughs.

“Except for that, yeah.”

He stands there, smiling like an idiot, for a good ten seconds before his wits return and he steps back quickly, gesturing Samsonov in.

“Sorry again about that. Not exactly the impression I was hoping to make in my first NHL game, crashing into Ilya Samsonov.”

“Just Ilya is fine.” Samsonov cocks his head to look at him, having to look up a little despite his very broad shoulders. A lot of goalies when you get them out of their pads are skinny as a rail, but Samsonov is built thickly, powerful shoulders and thighs and. Of course, like any hockey player, with a hockey ass.

“Alexey.” Alexey swallows a little. Ilya has eyelashes. Like - really long ones, and his eyes are really pretty. He’s looking up at Alexey like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s making all of Alexey’s tentative plans to masterfully take charge dissolve like freshly snowed ice on hockey pads.

“Alexey,” Ilya echoes, and then he smiles. “You said something, I think, about making it up to me?”

“I - yes, if you want, if you -” He’s sure he wants this, is pretty sure Ilya wants this, or he wouldn’t have come, but it seems abrupt to just - stick his hand in Ilya’s pants. Or he could - offer to get on his knees? He hasn’t done that as much; it’s still dangerous in Russia, and he doesn’t trust himself to offer in English yet, but he doesn’t think he would mind, for Ilya. He would be gentle, probably, and - 

His thoughts are cut off by a gentle hand on his wrist, tugging him until he’s looking down uncertainly into those blue eyes. “Hey,” Ilya says, soft. “We have lots of time, yes? No rush.”

“No rush.” Alexey nods, trying to breathe, and is glad he did when Ilya reaches up and pulls his head down, covering his mouth with his own.

He didn’t expect the kiss to be as gentle as it is, one of Ilya’s hands resting at the base of his neck, thumb rubbing soft half-moons there. He didn’t expect there would be any kissing at all. It’s the first time he’s kissed a man. The last time he was fifteen, at Internationals, and it had been a dare by one of the older boys. When he’d actually done it an awkward hush had fallen over the room, and he realised that hands were fine, mouths if you could find someone lower ranked socially, but kissing was - you didn’t do it, not in Russia, not in hockey, not if you were a man. But Ilya’s been in North America longer than Alexey has. He must know what’s okay.

And anyway Alexey’s brain is too busy whimpering and his body is too busy crowding itself as close to Ilya as he can to spend too much time worrying over it. Ilya is kissing him again, and again, slow drugging kisses that disappear all the tension in his shoulders from the game and from before the game worrying over playing his first NHL game.

He only realises Ilya’s backed them over to the bed with the backs of his thighs touch something hard and he startles, looking behind him quickly and then back to see Ilya laughing at him, eyes sparkling.

“I just thought we could get more comfortable, maybe.”

Alexey licks his lips, unconsciously, and then does it again on purpose when he sees the way Ilya’s eyes track the movement. “Yes.” He says, hoarse, and sits down, pulling his shirt off.

Ilya’s eyes darken, and he reaches a hand out to stroke a thumb over Alexey’s jaw before pulling away long enough to strip off his own shirt. He undoes the belt buckle on his pants but leaves them on, moving instead to maneuver Alexey back onto the bed, down onto the pillows, where he leans in again to capture Alexey’s mouth, muffling the moan that threatens to escape.

They never do get their pants off, but with Ilya’s mouth on his own and Ilya’s thumbs brushing gently over his nipples with an irregularity that draws groans from Alexey despite his best efforts, it only takes several hard grinds of Ilya’s hips before Alexey is spilling into his underwear, hands gripping hard enough to bruise on Ilya’s side and ass. Ilya follows him a minute after, gasping a moan into Alexey’s mouth and collapsing on top of him in a way that would be flattering if it didn’t mean that there was a very hot and heavy hockey player pinning Alexey firmly underneath him.

Alexey half expects Samsonov to leave without a word, just a quick nod the only acknowledgement of anything happening between them at all, but of course Ilya doesn’t. After a minute or two he stirs, pushing himself upright and smiling at Alexey before moving stiffly into the bathroom. He comes back with a couple warm cloths and hands one to Alexey, using the other to mop up the worst of the mess before tossing them back in the direction of the bathroom.

“Thank you.” Ilya stretches, looking sleepy and rumpled, even though Alexey doesn’t remember touching his hair. He regrets that now. It looks really soft. “I should get home. My roommates are nosy as fuck, so they’ll be wondering if I don’t get back soon.”

Alexey doesn’t know what to say to that - he still has an hour before Zach will be back, but he nods anyway. Ilya smiles at him again, that same look that Alexey doesn’t quite understand, and leans down over the bed. “Let’s do this again sometime, yes?”

“Yes,” Alexey says, just as breathlessly as he had an hour ago, and Ilya kisses him again, harder than the first time, but just as sweet.

“Good night, Alexey.”

Alexey watches Ilya slip out the hotel door, and touches his mouth absently. His lips feel swollen and almost bruised, and his face flushes hot. Next time - if there is next time, maybe he’ll kiss Ilya first.

**Author's Note:**

> has not been beta read by anyone, including me, so sorry about that


End file.
